It is, of course, the release of the all-party parliamentary report Giving Britain A Break, which calls for the encouragement of family holidays to be made a high political priority so that parents and offspring spend quality time together and give the tourism industry a £5bn boost.

There are 862 things wrong with that sentence, but I've got limited space and you've got a breakfast/bowel movement/life to be getting on with, so let's just look at the first few:

1 No parliamentary report should have a playful title. Puns in particular demean us all. When I am president of the world, puns are the first thing that will be outlawed, even before capers and cashew nuts. That's how deeply I feel about them, even when they aren't arousing the suspicion that a Wordplay Adviser has been employed at massive public expense to supply them.

2 Why, in the name of all that is holy, is there anyone, anyone at all even marginally affiliated with government, charged with thinking up this stuff? Families should go on holiday more to save the British economy? Really? Because a holidaying country is so much more productive? I'd have set the committee to work on preparing giant plates of fish for the chancellor. "There you go, Gidiot, more brain food! Now, you sit there and don't stop eating till you've come up with a Plan B. One that doesn't include increased expenditure on toffee apples and tuppenny slots to lift us out of the mire."

3 "Quality time" is a bogus concept that has ruined more lives than Thatcherism and low-fat cream cheese combined. But whatever it means, it's unlikely to be achieved by incarcerating groups of individuals related only by blood in B&Bs. The last one I was in had rubber sheets on the mattresses. Rubber sheets, Dave. That's where we're at, as a country, on the hospitality front. Rubber sheets.

4 The only phrase more likely than "quality time" (or "rubber sheets") to bring on a stroke is "family holiday".

I am on record as a holiday-hater. My philosophy is that there is no time so good, no activity so enjoyable, no sun so sunny that it cannot be improved by access to one's own lav.

But a family holiday is surely the nadir. There was nothing I dreaded more as a child than going on holiday with my parents. I expended so much effort the rest of the year in training them to leave me alone with a book, only to see it shattered on the Falmouth rocks on which I was suddenly supposed to go clambering in a delirious excess of beach-induced energy. And this despite the fact that I was born nine-tenths fungal and that the proportion of child to eukaryotic organism was declining by the day.

What you gain in tourism revenue, you will lose on prescriptions for antidepressants and migraine meds required by both generations.

Speaking of which, I should probably go and take my tablets now. Look forward to seeing your next dickish report on my desk, boys, by the time I get back.